


Strangers In The night

by ladyofdecember



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentions of Waylon Smithers/Charles Montgomery Burns, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdecember/pseuds/ladyofdecember
Summary: A small town. A tavern. Two men who get to know each other for better or for worse. Or, when Moe met Waylon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something that's been swimming around in my head since I heard there was something goin' on with Moe and Waylon in the show. Now I have not watched The Simpsons in a very, very long time so anything happening in the show, I'm in the dark about. That being said, I got this idea whilest on Tumblr. I am currently trying to catch up with what I've never seen of the show but I'm only on season 15 right now.
> 
> I want to make mention that I wrote this fic to Frank Sinatra's "best of" album, Nothing But The Best. For some reason, I feel like the music of Sinatra really seems to fit Moe and Waylon. Maybe cause I have such a classic, 'they meet and fall in love' idea about them. And yes, I know that they've met before but I feel like they have different social circles so why would they really know each other other than the fact it's a small town. 
> 
> I bet no one remembers Larry, one of the barfly's at Moe's. That's right. I mentioned a one-off character that no one cares about!
> 
> Anyway, I am very excited about this story and hope you all enjoy!

It was late friday night, around 10pm now and the guys were all well into their 5th or so beers. Moe glanced at Homer who was slumped over and playing with a tiny peanut. Lenny and Carl were arguing and laughing about some nonsense he was sure and Barney... well, Barney had actually already left.

He'd really been trying hard lately to make a change of himself, sticking to only coffee when at the bar and trying to limit just how much time was spent there. He wanted to see his friends, sure, but he couldn't deny the temptation to drink that he felt whenever he was here.

He almost felt proud of the man if not for the sickening sense of betrayal that kept creeping up whenever he thought about it. Moe shook the feeling off, not wanting to dwell on an issue that was said and done. No, instead he'd focus on the drunks he was still receiving business from.

“'nother beer, Homer?” He asked, polishing a glass with an old, holey rag.

“No... I guess I better head home to the kids. And Marge. And the... TV... “ He slurred, smiling happily to himself.

“Oh yeah, yeah, big man over here has such a happy life! And a TV! Don't rub it in, huh?” Moe bit back harshly.

“Come on, Moe, you got a great life goin' on! You got this... bar!” Lenny tried cheerfully, raising his mug towards him.

The bartender rolled his eyes and went about setting up the rest of the mugs for the next day as Homer said his goodbyes and stumbled out the door. From behind him, Moe heard Lenny and Carl whispering conspiratorially about setting him up on some sort of date but their drunkenness made them quickly forget the topic completely. Instead, they began discussing dying and being buried inside tubes to become trees in the afterlife. Them and their crazy Buddhist theories.

At the end of the bar, Larry waved his empty mug at Moe silently, signaling he was ready for a refill. He took the mug from the man, who frankly, had seen better days and refilled it for him. Hey, he wasn't their keeper, he was just their bartender. If they wanted to poison themselves and give him cash for it, who could blame him for taking it?

Just then the door swung open and in strolled Waylon Smithers, looking tired and dour as hell. Moe cocked an eyebrow but grabbed a mug for him anyway. He didn't usually frequent this part of town and he'd only ever been in the tavern maybe once before with that crazy old guy.

“Uh... what'll it be?” Moe asked, placing the mug on the bar.

Waylon rubbed at his face tiredly, smooshing up his glasses from his face before plopping his arm back down on the surface of the bar. “Uh... just a... beer I guess.”

“Comin' right up.”

Filling the glass for him, he set it down gently in front of him to which he replied a quiet, 'Thanks'.

Moe tried to go back to his cleaning and stacking of mugs, seeing as the guys had settled down into a drunken quiet but something itched at the back of his mind. He found himself turning back around to give the disheveled looking man a once over.

He wasn't too familiar with Waylon Smithers. After all, it was a big town and he was a busy man. He was very invested in his business, you know, so if it didn't involve his customers well then, why would he concern himself? 

He watched as the man had gulped nearly half of the mug down in just a short minute and was working on finishing it already. Moe blinked at him a couple of times. That was odd behavior for him. Or was it? He wasn't really sure, again, he didn't know the guy.

“Another!” Waylon called, sounding more intoxicated than he'd suspected when he came strolling in.

“Sure buddy.” Moe replied, pulling the tap and filling his mug with some Duff. “Uh... you want a tab or somethin'?”

“Yes... and keep 'em comin'.”

Moe nodded, only slightly disconcerted before making his way down the bar towards Lenny and Carl and the others. “Hey guys... what's that guy's deal?”

The two were cackling about something, Lenny's hand on Carl's shoulder and creeping a little farther and farther south as the seconds ticked on. Carl seemed to sober up as he peered around his friend's mirthful face however.

“Oh god, that's our boss!” He uttered in a quiet tone.

Moe cocked an eyebrow as he glanced back at the drunken man. “Really? I thought you uh... you worked at that plant or whatever?”

Lenny glanced over as well, eyes growing wide in shock. “Aw man, it IS him!”

“Yeah, well, we do. Mr. Smithers is Mr. Burns' assistant... or something.” Carl shrugged, trying to hide behind Lenny a bit, though there wasn't much point as Waylon wasn't paying attention to anything other than the beer in front of him.

“Who's Mr. Burns?” Moe asked, feeling out of the loop.

“Are you serious? He's our boss! He's the... freakin' head of the nuclear power plant for god sakes!” Carl replied, a little too loudly. “Oops... “ He muttered as he caught Waylon's eye and attention.

The older man began to laugh harshly, downing his entire mug of Duff. “Not anymore, gents!”

A wicked smile on his face, he stood up from the stool and headed their way with a confident stride. Moe glanced at his friends and the way they seemed to sink in their seats. He smirked. This guy was alright.

“No, no! You see, the precious Mr. Burns has left us all!” Waylon continued, swinging the empty mug around as his shouting grew louder and louder. Even Larry perked up a bit at the antics.

He grabbed Lenny by the collar of his forest green shirt, pulling him close. “And do you know... do you know where he went?!”

“Uh, no sir, Mr. Smithers! Where?”

Carl and Moe exchanged confused glances.

“Who the hell knows?!” Waylon finished anti-climatically, dropping Lenny's shirt and slamming the mug down on the bar in front of Moe. “He's somewhere in... in germany or something. Who cares?! I don't! I... sure as hell don't!”

Moe shrugged, knowing better than to argue with drunks. It was one thing he'd learned in all his years. “Sure. I can see that.”

“Barkeep! One more! Better yet... gimme a pitcher of the stuff!” Waylon shouted, slamming his hands down on the bar, then leaning against it so as not to topple over. Carl had stood up and was slowly making his way towards the exit, frantically signaling to Lenny who was awkwardly trying to sneak away as well.

“Alright... well, sure but I'm gonna need a card or some cash or somethin'.” Moe said, hands on his hips. He knew better than to trust some rando coming in his bar and demanding alcohol with no payment. Sure, that was fine for his regulars but this guy? No way was he getting jipped!

Waylon began to cackle. “What? You think I'm not good for it?!” He pulled out his wallet and slammed a metal, black card on the bar, making Moe's eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Run it! Go ahead!” The bespectacled man sneered.

“You got it buddy!” Moe happily snatched the credit card up and ran over to the register, admiring the way it sort of shimmered in the dim lighting. Smiling to himself when he realized he was once again distracted by Lenny, he began to ring up several charges for pitchers of beer. No need to let a good card like this go to waste. After all, the man had the money, right? Why not share in the wealth a little bit?

Returning back to Waylon, Moe handed the card back over and began filling up a pitcher for him. Carl had seemed to disappear and Larry was shoving cash into his hand and shuffling out as well.

“Mr. Leonard... I'll have you know, I do not care what that wrinkly old coot has in mind for his future plans! I am... going to be just fine. Yes!” Waylon trailed on and on, only pausing once the pitcher was placed next to him. He began to drink directly from the lip of it causing Moe to stare wide eyed.

“I was gonna give ya a new mug, geez!”

Lenny looked less terrified at being spotted out by his supervisor and more concerned about the statements he'd been making. “Wait, so Mr. Smithers, does that mean Mr. Burns has... sold the power plant?”

The older man slammed the pitcher down, not seeming to care when a bit of beer sloshed over the sides. “Yes! To... a german man, the same company as before, of course. They don't seem to learn from their past mistakes. But... the point is, I'll be fine! I'm fine! Really!”

Lenny looked even more upset. “Are we gonna lose our jobs?!”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. No, I think they are well aware of the situation.” Waylon slurred, turning back to his beer, well, pitcher of beer.

“I gotta tell Carl!” He shouted, running out of the tavern.

“Hey, you bums! You get back here and pay me!” Moe shouted. “Ahh!” He waved a hand at the empty doorway and began grumbling to himself as he stacked more of the mugs in the corner.

The bar was now empty, well except for Mr. lush over there.

“No, I'm... I'm fine.” He heard Waylon quietly mutter to himself.

Turning back around, he found the man staring wistfully into the amber colored liquid in the glass. He sipped at it a bit more before pushing it back and laying his head down into his arms to cover his face.

Moe frowned. He didn't particularly like when patrons got this drunk, well, unless they were entertaining. No, he didn't like customers bringing him down. He had enough doom and gloom without other people's problems to bother him as well.

“Hey, uh... Smithers, is it?”

“Waylon.” Came the muffled response from the man. He didn't yet raise his head.

Moe rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, ya seem like... maybe you're not so fine. Maybe you should... aw geez. I never do this! I don't! I'm here to make money, ya know? But... maybe you should call it a night.”

Finally, Waylon raised his head and peered at the bartender curiously. “You don't think I can hold my liquor?” He asked, hiccuping in the middle of the question.

“Uh... it's just... I'd rather not have another attempted suicide on my hands, ya know?”

This wasn't exactly a comforting response that he was looking for and so Waylon stood shakily to his feet and began to stumble towards the door.

“Hey wait!” Moe called out quickly. “I'm sorry... I ain't no good with people, ya know? I know. Bartender here. But still, I ain't the best. I ain't good with words none. Eh... sorry.”

Waylon stumbled back over, taking a deep breath in and out. He offered a small smile. “It's okay. I should... just pay you for the drinks and leave... “

“Uh, you actually already paid me.”

“Oh.”

Moe shrugged. “Yeah. You uh... okay to drive?”

Waylon leaned his elbows on the bar once more, rubbing his face repeatedly in an effort to wake up a bit. “I walked here.”

“Ah. Okay then. Well... good.”

He straightened up a little and gripped the bar with knuckles so tight, they turned a bit white. “I'm okay. I am. I don't need him. Contrary to what this town thinks, I'm not tied to that man's hip! And besides, it would just break if I was.”

Moe felt lost again like he was missing something. Maybe he needed to get out more, not that he had anywhere to go. “If you say so, pal.”

Waylon took a deep breath and shrugged. “Oh, what the hell?” In one fell swoop, he leaned across the small bar and grabbed him by the apron, pulling him in close for a kiss.

He kissed him soundly, as firmly as he could while being intoxicated as hell. Moe froze in shock.

Waylon reached up and ran his hand through his hair before resting it down on his shoulder. He moved his lips against the man's own trying to part them with his tongue, seeking entrance inside but settling with just running the tip along his chapped lips instead.

He pulled back, satisfied with himself and grinning as Moe stared at him, eyes as wide as saucers. “Well... I'll see ya.”

Moe watched as the man stumbled out of his bar, leaving him alone with his thoughts, abundant as they were. Emotions ran through him, from confusion to anger to finally... giddiness?

Running a hand across his brow, he leaned against the bar in confusion. What had just happened? The man had taken him for a... a... homosexual!

Checking the Duff clock on the wall above him, Moe made the decision to close up early for the first time in nearly ten years. He needed a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if it's not clear Mr. Horst is a character from the show that purchased the nuclear plant from Mr. Burns way early on in the series. The backstory is that Burns is once again unhappy living in Springfield and being in charge of running the plant so he sells it and retires, leaving forever. I didn't want to touch too much on that part being as the main story is about Waylon, Moe and some of the others. So I apologize if that is confusing. Also, it seems to be that Waylon does have a pretty active "social life", it's just one he keeps secretive. Correct me if I'm wrong, I haven't seen a lot of the recent seasons of the show. But that's my take on him. It's a small town, he feels he has to stay in the shadows, etc.

It wasn't that late yet, about 7:45pm when Moe looked up from his dish towel to see a familiar face strolling in through his door.

Waylon Smithers, very somber and sober, came strolling over towards the bar, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

Sneaking a side glance at the guys, he found almost all of their eyes focused solely on him. He sighed internally and prepared himself for what was to come.

"Uh... Moe? Can I... talk to you for a moment?"

Hard brown eyes turned to look at the hazel ones the bespectacled man carried. "Sure, it's a free country." Came his almost predictable, sharp response.

Waylon swallowed nervously and glanced over at Homer, Lenny and Carl, sitting at the far end of the bar. Taking a deep breath, he stood up a little straighter and focused solely on Moe. "Look, I want to apologize for the happenings of last night. It seems there is... a certain limit of alcohol I can imbibe and that limit was surpassed."

He said all of this to him as though it were new information. He was no stranger to the bottle, to waking up with a sickening feeling in his gut and dry mouth so severe it felt like he was dying. No, he had long been battling an addiction to drinking. But as far as any of them knew, he had no such problem.

Moe looked as if he couldn't care less. He eyed him suspiciously as he continued wiping the beer mug in hand and subconsciously took a step back away from the bar, remembering their exact placement from the night before. "Uh-huh... "

A subtle glance at his friends told him what he already knew. They had all turned away, disinterested in speaking to their boss and more so in playing guessing games with each other about sports trivia and the like.

Waylon frowned grimly, worry pulling at his cheeks and providing a glimpse as to his true age after all. "If... there's anything I can do... well... "

He trailed off then, unsure of where to go with his words. Moe licked his lips in irritation as he set the mug down impatiently. "There's nothing to be done. I mean... what are you even here for? What? You're here to apologize? Seriously?"

"Well I just thought... what with it being a deeply personal thing-"

Moe barked out loud in laughter, causing his friends to jump and snap to attention once more. "What?! You think... you-you think that I give a rat's ass about you or... or that?" Internally, he had begun to panic, not wanting to go down this road of questioning whatsoever. Who did this guy think he was?

Waylon was taken back. He had been trying to be discreet about the whole thing. He had been too drunk to remember just who was left in the bar when he'd reached over and grabbed the bartender but he was sure he didn't want to remind anyone of it. Moe was drawing more attention than he'd like.

He continued, leaning against the bar with an almost evil sneer painted across his face. "Boy... you must be... some kinda desperate though. I mean really, just comin' in here like that. You got... the wrong idea though, buddy!"

He didn't know why he was being so nasty, probably had to do with his low self-esteem and his near non-existent moral compass. He had never been a noble man and getting all touchy-feely with other people had proven to be a waste of time on more than one occasion. All he knew was he wanted the man gone, now, and all eyes off of him, the attention directed far, far away.

Waylon swallowed, thrown by the man's hostility at first as his heart sank, realizing how true his words were. Indeed, he must be desperate, now that Mr. Burns was gone. Was this really how the town saw him? Just the older man's lapdog? Desperate, sad, Waylon Smithers, the lovesick puppy? Quickly however, that self-pity turned to anger as he decided to give just as much as he was getting.

"Oh please! You think that was for you? Don't flatter yourself!" Waylon spat back with as much acidity as he could muster, surprising the bartender so much so that he actually took a step back in surprise, eyes widened.

Moe chuckled uncomfortably, not prepared for such a fierce response. "Yeah well... you seemed pretty messed up over that geezer. What's his name?"

"Mr. Burns?" Waylon said incredulously, unable to believe that there was actually someone in town that wasn't familiar with the wealthy capitalist. He was nearly infamous for better or for worse. Usually for worse.

Shrugging, Moe made a big show of acting like he didn't care. He set the mug neatly next to it's counterparts on the shelf behind him and flung the towel over his shoulder nonchalantly.

Hands on hips, he smirked at the man, feeling an urge to push the guy's buttons for some unknown reason. It was almost cathartic, making others miserable. It was what got him out of bed each day... or afternoon as often was the case.

Waylon was at a loss for words as he stared him down. The man before him was brash and brutish but then again what had he expected? There was a reason that he'd been in the closet for so long. It was because of people like him, constantly reminding him of the fact that people just did not care about anyone, especially in this town. Some days, he really considered seriously leaving, only to inevitably be drawn back in to the drama of small town life. Though, now that his permanent tether had abandoned him, perhaps now was the perfect time to make a fresh new start.

"Well, I've said my piece. I'll just be going then." He uttered bitterly, ready to turn on his heel and leave the establishment forever.

"Hey Mr. Smithers!" Homer Simpson called from the other end of the bar, waving and smiling like a madman. "Come have a drink with us!"

He turned to see Homer, Carl and Lenny, some of the plant's long time employees sitting in what he assumed was their regular spot at the end of the bar. He considered his options and whether he should actually go over there. Recalling that day's events at the plant, they more than likely had questions.

Shrugging to himself, Waylon made his way over to the group, only a little unnerved at their intensely cheerful smiles aimed his way.

"That's it! Sit down and have a drink, my good friend!" Homer said, slapping him on the back. "Oh, barkeep?" He called.

Moe watched the whole exchange, scowling to himself as he too walked over towards the group. "Whaddaya want, Homer?"

"Could you please get my friend here a nice Duff? Ooh, and some beer nuts, if you please?"

"You know we ain't got no beer nuts here, Homer! And as for this guy, I'm sure he'd like something a little... eh... lighter, eh?" The bartender smirked at the group and then at Waylon, waiting for the group to laugh at his joke. Waylon simply rolled his eyes and turned away towards the others causing Moe to grumble to himself and stomp away. 

"Is this about the sale of the plant, gentleman?" Waylon asked deadpanning. 

Lenny chuckled forcefully. "Oh heaven's no! Why, Mr. Smithers, we simply wanted to treat you to a drink for being a most excellent boss all these years!"

"Yes and such a kind and thoughtful one at that." Carl added.

"Who would never decide to let go of his three best employees!" Homer chimed in.

Waylon looked from one man to the other to the other and the sickeningly sweet smiles on their faces. He scoffed. "Look guys, as Mr. Horst explained earlier, there will be no layoffs this time. He is simply going to invest more money into the plant to get it under working order."

Mr. Burns abrupt departure had sent a shock wave through the plant. No one had expected such a thing, certainly not the man's closest adviser and confidant. The elderly man had informed him at the last minute, insisting that he was once again growing tired of the constant problems with the plant and the employees. He simply wanted to enjoy his life and the time he had left. After all, he had insisted, you never know how long you have left. It's best to enjoy the moment as much as you can.

Mr. Burns had contacted Mr. Horst, one of the gentlemen from Germany who had previously entered into a deal to purchase the nuclear plant. Though, things had not worked out in either of their favors before, the man seemed genuinely interested once more. It seemed he had grown bored of his venture capitalism and various companies there and was once more excited in investing in American companies.

Waylon had tried to argue with the man, offer reasons as to why Burns would ultimately be unhappy without the plant but they all fell on deaf ears. The man grew angry with him, insisting he was simply trying to hold him back due to his own affections towards him. He had, once and for all, shot him down and made clear that they would not be having any romantic entanglements, not now not ever. Not in this lifetime at all.

The rage he'd felt at the man had been too much and he'd stormed out of the office, insisting that he was glad he was leaving once and for all. Though, once he'd reached the elevators at the end of the hall, he'd immediately been filled with regret. 

By lunchtime, the man had departed for whatever international destination he'd decided on for his retirement. Waylon didn't know whether to cry or ransack the abusive man's office.

Preparations were already under way for Mr. Horst to take over, the deal had already been done. Surely, he wouldn't mind a destroyed office. He'd be redecorating anyway.

And thus, the events had led to his destructive drinking and actions at Moe's Tavern the previous night. Today had been Mr. Horst's first day and the employees of the plant had seemed less than excited about the sale.

Carl rubbed his chin in thought, considering Waylon's words and remembering the german man's speech earlier. "So, there's really no reason to kiss your ass? I mean, no more than usual o'course!"

"There's really not." Waylon insisted, looking upon their faces with a small sense of pity for their anxiety. It really was not fair of Mr. Burns to just up and leave the way he did. It wouldn't be good for the plant's employees nor their stock prices.

"Oh... cool!" Carl nodded, accepting the idea easily and gulping down his beer.

The three men started cheering and gulping down their Duff's rapidly as Moe finally came back, an ice cold mug of Duff in his hand which he placed in front of Waylon. "Here's your Duff. I thought you might like it a little better in a cold mug." He shrugged, an uneasy, almost shy smile on his face.

Waylon was taken back by the sudden change in mood from the man and smiled graciously. "Well I... I mean I never said I had a problem with beer in the first place but... yes, thank you! I appreciate it.”

"Yeah, well, I just thought with you bein' uh... you know, the way you are and all... you might have other uh... tastes."

This wasn't the first time he'd heard such a thing about his sexuality in this town. Despite growing up here his whole life, he'd never really felt comfortable being all that out there. And this was exactly why.

Taking in the stance of the man, the uncomfortable way he was holding himself and leaning against the bar, it was clear he was trying to be polite but was obviously put off. He wasn't being malicious towards him and that was something. Waylon studied the man and remembered his actions the night before. He was good looking, in a non-conventional way. 

Waylon smiled as he entertained daydreams of himself and the man. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe he should allow himself to be more open with people. After all, nothing too terrible seemed to be happening.

His smile turned to a smirk as he decided to test out just how far he could push the bartender. "Oh... I have a lot of... tastes. Some exotic, some... local." 

He waggled his eyebrows and Moe's eyes widened at the implication. They darted to the left where his friends were sitting still very close by but found they were engrossed in their own conversation, not paying any attention. Moe laughed nervously and pulled at his bowtie.

All of a sudden, Homer broke the tension by slamming his hands down on the bar. The alcohol was obviously beginning to affect him. "Hey! Why does Mr. Mithras get a cold mug?" He slurred.

Moe rolled his eyes and scowled at his friend, the moment forgotten. "Because he actually pays for his beers!"

"You know I'm good for it!" He whined, giving his puppy dog eyes to his friend.

"Nah uhh! Cough it over! Moe said, his hand extended towards him, intent on collecting his money owed for the week.

Homer groaned, handing him a $5 dollar bill. 

"Oh no you don't! The rest of tonight's and this past week's you owe too!"

Waylon watched in surprise as Homer pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and placed it in Moe's hand. Just how much did the man bring in in this tiny tavern. The bartender then turned to his other two friends. "Come on, you scumbags too! Always sittin' round thinkin' you're gonna skip out on the dough!"

"Oh come on, Moe!" Lenny whined, before handing him some cash.

"Man... " Carl complained, handing over a bit of cash as well.

When he was satisfied, he headed over towards the cash register to stow the funds away. Waylon took a hold of his icy mug, enjoying the chilly feel on the palms of his hands. He smiled to himself. Maybe this place was alright after all.

...

After he'd finished his mug of beer, Waylon left the group of men, still chatting along happily to one another and made his way over to Moe where he was wiping up the other end of the bar.

"Hey." He said, slightly nervous about his next intentions.

Glancing up at the man, Moe smiled at first, despite himself, caught off guard at the man's sudden presence. "Oh... hey."

Waylon held out a little piece of paper and smiled shyly. "I-I don't really do this normally. In fact, I guess I've... I've never done this!" He chuckled nervously. "But uh... you should call me. Really."

Moe eyed the paper in his hands, unfolding it and seeing a phone number written in pen on the inside. He glanced up at him in confusion, not getting I.. "I ain't really got no phone right now. Well... I suppose there's always the bar phone." He glanced back over his shoulder before facing the man again. "Uh... call you about what?"

Waylon frowned. "Oh... no, uh I meant... you should call me. Like... for a date?"

"Wha?" Moe sounded in shock.

With a smile and a wink, Waylon headed towards the exit. "See ya around, Moe."

...

Moe shut off the back lights to the bar before heading towards the exit. He shut off the overhead ones and then stepped outside, locking the door behind him. It was well after closing time as he was happy to finally be off.

Venturing down the sidewalk, eyes downcast, he took his time getting home, unsure of what to make of the night's events once again. As he placed his hands in his pockets he felt the familiar touch of the crinkled paper in his pocket. Waylon's number, he thought.

The concept that he had been entrusted with this kind of personal information was heartwarming. Someone actually wanted to talk to him? The man had actually gone out of his way to give him his personal phone number. No one ever trusted him enough or cared enough to give him a second thought usually. It was... actually kind of nice. On the other hand, the implications were too much for the man and he had immediately shrugged off any thought of actually calling the man.

Instead, Moe walked home alone, as he always did, none too thrilled with the idea of a microwavable tray being his 1am dinner. Maybe he should get a cat or somethin'.

His house was just a few blocks down the way. He'd selected the place for that very reason, wanting to be as close to the bar as possible. Well, that and the fact that it was small and cheap. He wasn't fancy.

Finally home, Moe discarded his shoes at the door, padding around in his navy blue socks and heading straight for the kitchen. Microwavable dinner retrieved from his freezer, he peeled off the plastic cover and tossed it inside the microwave. As it heated up, he leaned against his counter, letting his mind drift.

Again, came the curiosity and thought that maybe he should try calling the man. Then again, it was late and any respectable person was asleep already. He shouldn't wake him.

Wait a minute, what was he saying? Of course, he wasn't going to call him! He's wasn't... that's not how he was wired, dammit. And it's the man's own fault for assuming such.

Moe's mind raced, trying to piece together just why Waylon had assumed he liked men in the first place. Was it his clothes? His $3 haircut? The fact that he hadn't dated anyone in several years?

The microwaved began to beep, drawing him back out of his distracted daydream. He quickly retrieved the tray, immediately cursing as he burnt his hand on the side. Tossing the meal down onto a plate, he carried it to the living room where he settled down on his couch.

Moe set the plate to the side, intent on letting it cool off a bit and retrieved the remote to watch some mindless late night TV. He flipped channel after channel not really paying attention to what he was seeing. His mind considered just what his life might be like if he were wired... that way.

Would he be happier? Would his life be less empty? Maybe he'd have a cat after all.

Dropping the remote, leaving the television on some kinda infomercial, Moe fished the piece of paper out of his pants' pocket. His eyes traced over the neat handwriting. He sighed, setting it on his side table, intent on thinking no more about it.

The rest of the night was spent drinking straight whiskey until he passed out on the couch, not bothering to even change out of his clothes. When the sun came up in the morning, quickly meandering across his living room from the crack in the curtains, he was woken abruptly with it's piercing beam straight in his eyes.

Turns out, he'd survived another night and woken up after all, despite his dreams being full of frightful glimpses of his death.

Rubbing at his face in irritation, he stood and stretched, hearing way too many bones crackling and popping for his liking. Best get on with the day, he supposed, he had a business to run.


	3. Chapter 3

It was 6am and Waylon Smithers was shutting off his blaring alarm clock with a wince. Throwing the covers off and swinging his legs over the side, he took a moment to slowly wake up to the darkness surrounding him in his bedroom. With a hand on his face, he rubbed tiredly at his eyes until he was able to open them fully.

He hated mornings like this, hungover, his mouth tasting like an ashtray, no doubt from all the cigarettes he'd allowed himself to smoke last night. Waylon stumbled to the bathroom, only narrowly avoiding hitting his knee on the edge of his bed frame.

Once the light was flicked on, he winced at the harshness of it before splashing his face with cool water to wake up. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the way whiskers of his five-o'clock shadow had come in. He really needed to clean himself up.

He wasn't dealing with Mr. Burns' departure well at all.

…

At 6:35am, he was finally sitting down to a cup of coffee out on his patio. The sound of the birds chirping in the trees as the sun struggled to come up was comforting, at least now that he had some caffeine. His headache this morning wasn't too bad, not compared to some mornings and he was planning on making himself a light egg white omelette for breakfast in a bit.

He sighed to himself as the memories of the last few days came back to him. Try as he might to forget it, one thing was apparent, he was alone. It wasn't something new to him, after all, he and Mr. Burns had never really officially been an item. The man was far too cold and distant for that. Still, seeing the man each and every day, spending time with him outside of work even had allowed Waylon to create a sort of fantasy that was way better than actual reality.

It was crazy, he knew that but what other choice had he had? This was his life and he had to make the best of it, right?

Now what would he do? Continue working at the plant, that much was clear. Mr. Horst had insisted on giving him a raise, concerned he may leave his position now that Mr. Burns was gone. Did people really think so little of him? It was starting to get embarrassing.

He was surprised by the german man's offer and had at first, politely declined. But the man insisted, surprised that he was getting paid so little in the first place that he had reluctantly accepted and tried to assure him he had no intention of leaving. He couldn't leave the plant nor Springfield. It was in his blood and you can't change blood.

Waylon thought about Moe then and remembered giving him his number. He put his head in his hands. “Ugh... so stupid! What were you thinking?!”

Why had he even done that? Sure, the man was handsome but he clearly, clearly wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't even sure the man liked men. He'd been nothing but distant towards him since they'd met. Maybe he had a type, maybe he liked being kept afar?

Oh god.

Waylon shook his head of the ridiculousness of it all. No matter, he wouldn't be visiting that bar again anyway. No reason to visit an establishment your employees frequent. It's not... appropriate. 

Yeah, cause he was the poster child for appropriate.

Finishing his coffee, he eyed the pack of cigarettes he'd left on the table the night before, just after he'd finished off his three glasses of whiskey. Rolling his eyes at his own spiraling behavior, he quickly lit up one, deciding he'd come this far.

The sun was completely up now, signifying the man had only a small amount of time to get something to eat and head to the plant. Another fun filled day of reports and reckless employees to manage though he did have high hopes that his new boss may be able to turn things around.

God, he hoped. To be honest, any change would be a good thing. He just wanted something... different to happen for once.

…

Just after 12:30pm, when Moe was just getting under way of lining up all the beer mugs for the day, the door to the bar flew open and one Homer Simpson raced in towards him.

“Moe! Quick! Gimme a beer!” He shouted frantically, gripping at the edge of the wooden bar so hard his knuckles began to turn white.

Moe casually turned around to face his friend, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh? What's up, Homer?”

“I just found out Patty and Selma are going to be staying with us for four whole days!”

“Ah... “ Moe nodded, filling a mug to the brim with the foamy drink they all loved and handing it to him. “Hmm, sounds interesting though, now your house will really be full. I mean ya already got that great family an' all. Bet your house is never quiet and laced with the silent, desperate loneliness that mine is.”

Homer didn't respond as he downed the Duff all in one gulp and slammed in down on the counter. Wiping his mouth, he looked at the bartender, “Ugh, tell me about it. I just want to get some quiet sometimes!”

Moe nodded as though he agreed when it couldn't be farther from the truth. But to be honest, he hadn't the will in him today to actually have conversations. He watched as the larger man eyed his watch and grimaced. “Well,” Homer began, “Gotta get back to work! Gotta impress the new boss!”

At the mention of the plant, Moe perked up, his thoughts rushing unconsciously towards one bespectacled man in particular. “Uh, say uh, Homer? What do ya think of that... that Waylon guy?”

Homer was almost to the exit when he paused in confusion and spun around. “Mr. Smithers? He's alright, not too much of a hard ass! Why?”

“Oh, uh, no reason, ya know-” Moe began but was interrupted quickly by his friend.

“You have a crush!” Homer began to tease in a sing-song tone, pointing at him giddily and dancing around.

“Hey! What? You don't know what you're talking about!”

“You like him! Yes you do!” Homer began to giggle incessantly.

Moe slammed his hands down on the bar hard. “Hey! Shut up, Homer! You want I should tell Midge that you're here right now instead of at the plant?”

That did it and the man quieted down but he still grinned at the bartender as he crept closer to whisper conspiratorially. “It's okay, Moe. I won't say anything... about your crush!”

“That's it!” Moe cried, reaching beneath the bar for his trusty rifle and whipping it out.

Homer began to laugh heartily until he saw the gun then he cried in fright and ran out of the bar to head back to work. 

Moe kept the gun aimed on the exit door for a second more, grimacing at the idea of Homer saying anything to Waylon about him. 

He sighed and placed the gun back on it's rack hidden behind the bar. Why hadn't he just given the man a call? What's the harm?

He began searching his pocket for the slip of paper only to realize he'd left it sitting on his side table in his living room. 

Moe chewed his lip and looked at the clock. Just about 1pm and he usually never got anyone in until at least 2:30pm.

Figuring he had some time still, he got out his 'Back in 15' sign to place on the outside of the door and locked up the place.

He'd head home real quick to retrieve the number and give the man a call lest Homer say something to him to make him think the situation between them was anything but platonic. 

No, he couldn't have the man thinking he was one of them. He'd give him a call, straighten everything out and let him know it was all just one big misunderstanding after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer  
> And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow  
> What started out this friendship has grown stronger  
> I only wish I had the strength to let it show
> 
> I tell myself that I can't hold out forever  
> I said there is no reason for my fear  
> 'Cause I feel so secure when we're together  
> You give my life direction  
> You make everything so clear  
> \--Can't Fight This Feeling, REO Speedwagon

As Moe rounded the corner just a block or so away from his apartment, he found himself pausing near a restaurant where a most enchanting aroma was wafting through the breeze. He smiled at the familiar scent he identified as hot, fresh italian bread. His stomach rumbled and he frowned, realizing he hadn't had any lunch yet, or breakfast for that matter.

He grimaced. There was no way he had enough money for lunch, not today anyway. But geez, it smelled so good. What rotten luck he had.

As he began to turn heel and head the rest of the way towards his place, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him from said restaurant.

“Moe?” Waylon asked, a pleasant smile on his face complimenting the look of surprise.

Aw, great. The bartender slowly turned around, the apprehension clearly plastered across his face. “Eh... hello there, Waylon.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I uh... live just over there. I was just passing through. You?”

Waylon gestured to the large brown bags of food he was carrying. “Lunch for Mr. Horst and his associates. I didn't know you lived so near to the bar!”

Moe heaved a big sigh. Might as well get this over with. No need to do it over the phone now. “Yeah, look Waylon, uh... I think we got to get somethin' straight between us. Aw, geez! I didn't... uh... I didn't mean it that way, ya know?”

The bespectacled man stared at him in confusion, balancing the heavy bags into his left arm as he reached up to adjust his glasses. “Uh... ?”

“What I mean is, I'm not a uh... ya know, like you! I'm not. So... I'm... sorry for the confusion.”

Waylon smirked as it dawned on him. “Ah, I see what you're saying, Moe. Well, you know, that's okay. I... I haven't been in the dating scene much either. You know, I've been rather wrapped up with my career for a lot of years. But, you know, ya gotta make time for the little things in life.” He smiled as he stepped a little closer to the man. “We could trapeze the dating scene together, you know, go slow?”

The bartender gaped at him. “Wha-what? No, I... ain't ya listening to me?”

“It can be hard to get back in the dating scene after such a long pause but I assure you, I won't bite!” 

He gave him a wink and a charming smile before carrying on his way. He called over his shoulder. “I gotta get back to the plant, I'll see you!”

Moe stared at the retreating figure heading back down the street. What just happened? Had he completely ignored him? Or did he just not understand? He stood there for a moment more before remembering he too had to get back to work.

Biting his lip, he was torn about what steps to take next. He chose to continue on his way to the apartment, retrieve Waylon's number and try again later over the phone. He didn't know why this was happening to him but he'd get to the bottom of it.

…

It wasn't until around 8pm when Moe finally remembered the phone number he'd stashed under the register. The afternoon had been busier than usual, a lot of unhappy drunks wafting in and the evening had been spent chatting away with his friends about this and that.

As Lenny and Carl headed off to the corner to play a game of darts and Homer was getting ready to head home for dinner, Moe finally found a moment to himself to contemplate the issue.

“Hey Moe? When ya comin' back by for dinner at my house? You know... Maggie misses you!”

He turned back to his longtime friend with an easy smile. “Aw, let her know I miss her too. She's such a cutie!”

Homer kind of slumped over, obviously intoxicated and dropped his keys beneath the bar. “Whoops... gotta... get... the keys!”

Upon rising back up, he predictably hit his head on the wooden edge. “D'oh!”

Moe glared at the man. “Hey, uh, Homer? You're in no condition to drive! You're gonna have to give me those keys.”

“What?! I'm not drunk! You're... the... the drunk!”

“Yeah, funny, no seriously, gimme them keys!”

“NEVER!”

Lenny laughed from across the bar and pointed at the bald man. “Check it out! Homer's getting his keys taken by Moe!”

Carl joined in on the laughter as Barney returned from the bathroom, still sober as he'd recently been on a coffee-only kick. 

“Homer, I will drive you home, not to worry, my good chum.” He said with a hearty slap on his back with the one hand as he gingerly fished the keys away from him with the other.

“Aw, you're such a good friend, Barn! I love you!” Homer mumbled sloshily as he embraced him.

Moe snatched the keys from Barney and went to stow them under the register wherein he retrieved the slip of paper. As his back was turned, his two friends had made their way out of the bar.

Surveying the now near-emptiness of the place brought a sense of overwhelming loneliness and a hollow feeling to his insides. Moe heaved a huge sigh as he thought about all the people in the town settling down with their families right about now. 

He glanced at Lenny and Carl and how happy they looked together as they playfully argued over who was winning the game. Carl tried snatching the dart from Lenny's hand but he held it high above him and they sort of did a little dance together trying to fight for the right to control said dart.

Moe smiled at the scene before catching himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Getting all cutesy over some lovey-dovey scene? Who the hell was he?

He eyed the small piece of paper in his hands, swallowing nervously as his stomach tied itself in knots at the idea of dialing said number.

As the door to the bar noisily swung open, his eyes found themselves face to face with none other than the owner of said phone number. He gaped as Waylon gave him a nervous smile and began making his way over.

“Uh, hey there, Moe.” He said, sitting on one of the stools perched in front of the man.

Moe promptly shut his mouth when he realized he was staring and hid the number deep down in his navy blue apron. “Uh... hey uh there, uh... Waylon.”

“Can I have a Duff?”

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative and quickly went about filling one of the mugs with the cold, bitter stuff.

“Thanks.” The man said gratefully and began devouring it all at once, much to the bartender's surprise.

“Uh... everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. Yeah, it's fine. I'm just... in the middle of a mid-life crisis. That's all!” Waylon said, still all smiles though his tone of voice betrayed something darker.

Moe nodded quietly, still not sure how to react. Why was this man coming here so often? Was it to see him? Nah, couldn't be. Moe shook his head of the nonsense. There was no way someone could be that interested in him of all people!

He headed over to his rags and cleaning supplies to begin wiping down the bar at the other end. He should just give him space, that would fix this whole thing.

Lenny and Carl's laughter and now happy shouting perked his interest once again and he found himself looking longingly at their continued dart game. As Carl shot one in the exact middle, Lenny cried out gleefully and threw his arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly. 

'Why couldn't I have something like that?' he thought as a painful spike bloomed about in his chest.

Wiping down the rest of the bar, he began making his way back towards Waylon and noticed he had pretty much already finished his drink. Being the ever efficient bar owner, he offered him another one to which he agreed with a grim smile.

“So, uh... what's got ya down, now?” Moe asked, just making conversation. After all, what else did he have to do?

Waylon bypassed the question entirely, choosing to jump back on their earlier discussion. “I'm sorry if it seems like I've been coming on too strong. I remember feeling the way you do, kind of afraid, unsure of how I should act and who I should be. After all, Springfield is great in some ways and not-so-great in others. It's still a very small town. I'm... I'm not entirely out to everyone.”

His voice was hushed now, which must have been a bit of a struggle due to not only his quick pace in downing Duff but the loud nature of the laughter in the background. 

Moe stopped wiping down the bar to blink at him in confusion. “Sorry, uh... what ya mean by that? I ain't afraid of nothing!”

“Oh, no, of course not!” The man agreed with a good-natured smile and a quick drink of the fresh beer placed in front of him. Moe still continued to eye him suspiciously as he continued on. “Maybe we could... uh meet for breakfast tomorrow? We could... discuss things.”

This was it, this was the moment. It really was now or never. Moe Szyslak, you better set him straight. Ugh... not like that!

“Look, Waylon, you're a nice guy and all. I figure, uh, I ain't got any intel on that or anythin'! Really! I'm... it ain't like I been askin' around about ya... “

The look the man gave him was quizzical but it didn't stop him and he carried on. “But uh, anyway... I ain't a homosexual. So... “ He waved his hands about like that explained something obvious and made to end the conversation there.

“Oh.”

'Oh? That all he's gonna say?' Moe wondered in frustration. He watched as Waylon took a few more gulps from his beer.

“Yeah, so uh, sorry ya got the wrong idea.”

“Mm.”

Waylon wasn't saying anything, he wasn't angry or frowning. He just seemed to be... contemplating something. He began looking him up and down, scrutinizing him almost. It made him even more uncomfortable so he jumped at the chance to get Lenny another beer.

“Hey, Lenny, c'mon, let's just go. You don't need another, do ya?” His boyfriend asked him, gentle hand on his shoulder.

Moe watched the two as they stood beside the bar. He checked the clock on the wall and found it was nearing 10pm, about that time when most would start to wind down and clear out.

“Aw... alright, I guess so.” Lenny responded, clinging to the man and displaying just how tipsy he'd gotten throughout the night.

“I'll see ya Moe!” Carl called as they made their way to the exit.

“Yeah... and don't forget the tabs tomorrow night, huh?”

“I won't!” He called as he passed through the swinging door.

“I mean it!” He yelled and then muttered to himself, “Ya bums... “

The bar was empty now or near it as a sudden voice made him almost jump ten feet in the air. 

“Do they really owe you that much money?” Waylon asked, still sitting at the end of the bar, still nursing the same beer.

“Uh... “ Moe stuttered, getting control over his heart rate. How had he forgotten he was still there? “No, uh... not really. Not much, I mean. They're my friends so I let 'em slide most of the time. I just have to call the tabs in whenever they get over $100.”

“Geez... seems like you really rely on them to pay up.”

“Well, yeah, it ain't like they don't. Plus, Homer's real good about coverin' for those that can't. I mean, he's practically flush with money!”

Waylon laughed. “Homer Simpson? No... not from what I gather. I've... seen his paycheck!”

The bartender shrugged. “I dunno, he's always doin' side jobs, ya know?”

The exchange seemed to die down, the air in the bar heavy with a tone neither of the man were particularly fond of. It was like a feeling of emptiness amplified with sorrow or solitude. It was a feeling both knew well.

Feeling a bit braver now that the bar was empty and fearing what it would feel like to wake up one more morning to a life of loneliness, Moe dared to ask just what a breakfast would entail.

Scoffing and eyes downcast into his beer, Waylon shrugged. “I thought you said you weren't interested?”

“Never said that! Just that... I wanna make things clear is all. Ya know, don't uh... don't get the wrong impressions.”

“Well, there's a nice place off 32nd Street that serves crumpets and tea. I really enjoy that place.”

“Crumpets?” Moe began to laugh heartily. “Sorry, uh, the little biscuit things? Ooh, la-de-da! Crumpets!”

He cleared his throat and became stoic once again when he noticed Waylon probably wasn't the right audience. “Uh... yeah, okay. Well, uh, what time you wanna meet?”

“How about eight?”

“In the mornin'?!” Moe sputtered. “Do... do people even open that early?”

Upon the befuddled look his new friend gave him, he decided to play it off as a joke and just agree. “Yeah, well, uh that sounds great! I love getting up...when the... the sun has just come up. Yeah.”

“Well alright, Mr. Szyslak.” He said downing the rest of his beer and slamming a $10 bill on the counter. “Sounds like we have a date. Well... not a date. You know what I mean.” He began to head towards the exit.

“Uh, hey uh, the beer's are only $3 each tonight.” Moe said, waving the bill at him as he watched him exit.

“Keep it! Thanks for the conversation.” And with that, he was gone once again.

Moe was alone.

He looked down at the neat, clean and nearly freshly printed bill in his hands. An interesting feeling filled his chest, one of... happiness? That was new.

Depositing the money in the register, he set about closing up the bar. It wasn't likely he'd get anymore customers that night which was odd seeing as it was a friday. But he supposed, most people have better things to do, people to be with.

As he thought about his meet-up in the morning, he began to feel a strange sense of confidence and pride. He'd... made a friend! Someone who actually wanted to talk to him.

The guys were nice and all but he'd known them since practically childhood. This was a new friend, someone who wanted to talk to him knowing only the current Moe and not the one he used to be.

He began to hum a tune as he cleaned up, anxious to get home and get to sleep so the morning could come sooner. Man, he really must be lonely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say that I know a lot of this story's tone seems homophobic and a bit like gay-bashing. I just want to point out that these are Moe's internal self-loathing thoughts being acted on. They are based on, (what I believe) is Moe's past upbringing and in general hard living enforcing these ideas and concepts. I obviously don't hold these beliefs but I think it's fundamental for the character to go through these things and to learn to change and accept them. So, just to clarify for anyone who may feel a bit insulted or sensitive to these things!
> 
> ...
> 
> Cuz all we got is now  
> So no need for being careful  
> No need for being pure  
> No need for feeling different  
> No wishing we were cured
> 
> We're bigger than our bodies  
> We're living like we're gods  
> We're here holding onto something, that was never really ours
> 
> -Kings And Queens Of Summer by Matstubs

Moe smiled at the man as he nibbled on some bits of cheese from his tiny plate. "I'm uh... not used to being up this early."

"What? What time do you normally get up?" Waylon laughed as he sipped at his tea, his fingers gently grasping at the sides of the delicate teacup.

"I dunno. Like... eleven? No, I mean sometimes I go in early to open the bar but, usually it's not before noon really."

They continued eating sitting in a comfortable companionable silence until Waylon looked up and met his gaze with a warm smile. "Well, I'm glad today you made an exception. I'm... very glad for the company."

Moe could only grin like a mad man as he found he had no words to respond. What was this feeling? This sort of warmth blooming inside his chest? Things were weird, this was weird but it was still nice somehow.

There were only a few others at the restaurant and most were sitting inside whereas Waylon had insisted they sit at one of the small tables outside on the sidewalk. Glancing up at the architecture of the building, Moe tried to remember when the place had opened up exactly. They were in one of the nicer, newer areas of Springfield, an area Moe had actively been avoiding for the longest. It was filled with yuppies and outsiders, people new to the their small town who brought their money and their la-de-dah outside ideals. It made him sick.

Still, looking into the eyes of the cheerful man sitting across from him, Moe supposed it wasn't so bad. The food was pretty good despite the small portions. He didn't think anyone could get full on such small plates. But good food and good company, who could complain really?

The sun wasn't too harsh on his eyes either, sure at first, he'd had to shield them with his hand as he squinted and winced from the sheer brightness of the sun. But now, now he'd grown used to it. It was even kind of pleasant.

“Moe, do you think you're happy with your life?”

The question had come out of nowhere really and the bartender had straightened in his seat, not wanting to give his normal, grumpy answer of 'as happy as any man should be'. For some reason, he'd found himself wanting to impress Waylon, not to seem better than him or anything but maybe... maybe to bond with the man.

Moe took a sip of his tea, feeling silly holding such a tiny cup and such a tiny saucer in his rough and dirty hands. After swallowing he shrugged and met the man's sparkling hazel eyes. “Yeah... I mean, I think so. Why?”

The bespectacled man smiled wryly. “I've realized something recently. I've been... drifting the last several years, so much so that I have no idea what would actually make me happy. But I've realized that though I thought I was happy, I just... haven't been. I wonder what it would take now to make me truly happy, if I can even recognize what that is now.”

“Wow... “ Moe mumbled, taken back by the man's statements as he sipped more of his tea. “That's... deep.”

Waylon laughed, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry. I know, it's a little early for talk like this. But I... that's why I wanted to go out with you. I want to get your opinion on things. I... I don't have many friends I can ask for advice. Or... any friends, I suppose.” He shrugged, focusing on finishing off his vanilla scone.

Moe blinked in surprise. “And you're coming to me? I'm not... great at advice.”

“Sure you are! You have all those friends!”

“They're my patrons.”

Smirking knowingly at the older man, he took another sip of his own tea. “Sure. Patrons.”

“They are! They ask me for advice and I give it, that's part of the deal of runnin' a bar!” Moe finished off the last bits of cheese from his plate. “Besides, it ain't like my advice is very good or anythin'! I just... I try to tell people how it is and let 'em pick and choose what they wanna follow.”

Waylon stared off into the distance. “I thought that I knew what I wanted for so long. I mean, I did want that but... I guess it just wasn't meant to be.”

Moe looked at the man, eyed the way his eyes seemed to glaze over sometimes when talking about his former boss. He'd heard rumors of the man, hey it ain't like he was pumping the guys for information or nothin' but sure, he'd wanted to know details about this Mr. Burns. He thought he'd remembered seein' him around a few years back, back when he'd been shot and the whole town had been up in arms about it. But, Moe had always like to keep his head down, keep to himself and mind his business. What did he care if the old geezer wanted to ruin the town? As long as he stayed away from his bar and his business, who gives a rat's ass?

Waylon chuckled nervously, bringing Moe back to the present. “Anyway, enough depressing and miserable talk. What are you doing later?”

“Uh... runnin' the bar.” Came Moe's predictable answer. He was always 'runnin' the bar', it ain't like he had any active social life or whatever.

“Right.” Waylon nodded, forgetting the man ran his own business and alone at that! “Uh... well, if you get some time off, would you... wanna go see a show?”

“What? Like a movie?”

“No, no.” The man laughed again and clarified. “Like... one of the plays down at the theater?”

Moe looked at him like he'd sprung two heads. “Uh... I don't think I've ever been there before.”

“Really? I go all the time!”

The bartender looked uncomfortable, eyed his empty saucer and teacup. His mind roamed over all the things he had to do at the tavern and came up with nothing. He never really had too much to take care of; settle the tabs, make sure all the mugs are cleaned up, get all the possums out of the bathroom for the monthly check. Nope, not too much to take care of. Maybe he was just looking for excuses to not have a social life.

Moe met his eyes. “Look... I don't uh... I don't go out much. Sure, I guess I got friends but a lot of the time they're busy with their own families and partners and whatnot. What I'm tryin' to say is, sure, I'd like to go to one of them fancy shows with ya.”

Waylon's face lit up with a smile, a look of surprise written all over it. “Great! Well, what time should I pick you up?”

“How about 7:30pm? I can close the bar a few hours early if it's just one night!”

“I think you'll really enjoy the theater Moe. It's right up your alley.”

“What? Really? Near the bar?”

“No, no. I just... it's an expression.”

“Oh.”

…

“That was somethin!” Moe said happily as the two walked out of the theater. “All the dancin' and singin'! Oh and the colors!”

Waylon nodded along in agreement as they headed down the street to the parking lot. “I enjoyed it. I thought you might too.”

“I did! It was... just wow!”

As they reached the lot and made their way over to Waylon's simple black coupe, Moe paused, a pinched look of concern coming over his face. 

“What is it?” The younger man asked.

“Hey uh, how come you ain't made fun of me?”

“Uh... why would I do that?”

Moe shrugged, hands shoved deep in his gray jacket pockets. “Well, you know, for the way I talk or the things I say.”

Waylon stared at him in confusion. “Uh... I like you Moe. Why would I make fun of you?”

“Well the guys are always pokin' fun at me, ya know, it's the way it is. Well, I guess it ain't just the guys at the bar, it's... well, everyone I've ever met actually. My whole life?” He shrugged again, peering over at the man from the passenger side of the car.

Frowning and unsure of what to say to that, he unlocked the doors for them to both get inside. 

Shutting the driver's side door, Waylon then turned to Moe to look him in the eye. “I'm sorry... that must have been hard.”

“Well, ya know... “ Moe shrugged the comment off, really not comfortable with letting too much emotion in. He stared off in the distance ahead of them, taking in the bumper stickers of the car parked in front. “I... had a nice time though. I'm glad we're... friends.” He glanced back at the man with a smile and Waylon lit up with one of his own in both relief at the man's admission and genuine joy at the night's events.

“Me too, Moe. I'm glad we met.”

He started the car to head back towards the tavern when a thought occurred to him. “You know, I still don't know where you live.”

The car was silent a moment and he had to glance at him to be sure he'd heard him. Moe was biting his lip in trepidation. 

“Moe?” Waylon prompted.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. That's true I guess. Well, you could just drop me at the bar, I don't want to be any trouble.”

He laughed, glancing at his new friend as he drove. “Moe, it's not any trouble to drive you home. It's not a big deal!”

Relaxing a little in his seat, the bartender glanced at Waylon with a small smile. “Well, I... you know, I'm not comfortable with any charity. I guess it's 'cause when I was little, I had to work off my debt to this summer camp I was living at for free. They gave me food and stuff and I had to clean the campers bunks and pick up all the trash on the camp grounds. It was... well, kinda a hard time.”

He sat back in his seat with a start, unnerved by how easily he'd just opened up to the man like that. Glancing at Waylon, he could tell he was taken back.

“Oh? Were you... what do you mean you lived there?”

Moe swallowed, not really wanting to divulge too much of his past but since he'd opened the floodgates, he supposed he owed him a bit more of an explanation. He shrugged, trying to look and sound tough. “I didn't have anywhere to go or to stay. No big deal. My parents took off and I was only fourteen so... “

Waylon swallowed as he pulled up to a red light and stopped. He glanced at the man. “That's... that's incredible. I mean, not that it's a good thing. I mean, it's incredible that you were able to work hard and take care of yourself like that.”

“Yeah, well, kinda had to. Had no choice.”

The light turned green and Waylon drove down to Main Street, making a left. He glanced at Moe again. “Uh, so... which apartment building is yours?”

“Oh, uh, it's just down at the end there on the right. We can stop here.”

Getting out of the car, the two began walking down the empty street beneath the white glow of the street lights above. Moe shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do to feel more comfortable with the situation. Why had he opened up to him like that? That was weird. Still, it felt good to talk about things he supposed. And the man hadn't been making fun of him the entire time they'd been spending time together which was a miracle really. There was a lot to unpack with him. A lot of easy, cheap shots to take but still, the man was perfectly nice to him.

They arrived at his door just off the street with a little stoop in front and Moe gave him a wry smile. “Well, uh, this is me. Thanks for the evening at the theater. I'm... I'm surprised I liked it so much.”

“I had a feeling you would.” Waylon shrugged, matching his smile with one of his own.

This was normally the part in romantic comedies where you were supposed to invite the person inside, that is, if they were in a romantic comedy. Why did his mind go there? He wasn't a homosexual, this wasn't a... a date date!

Waylon stepped up onto the step to get closer to Moe who was perched all the way at the top by the door. He smiled as he leaned in a bit closer to him making him jump in surprise. “Moe... I had a nice time.”

'Oh god, what's he doin'?' Moe thought, his mind panicking. His heart started to race as he thought back to their kiss at the tavern. He'd... liked it, a lot actually, though a little part of him was ashamed to admit it. He blinked rapidly, trying to think on his toes as he realized just how close Waylon had gotten.

His mind flashed to what lay inside, his empty apartment, full of unhappy memories and silence, deafening silence. He honestly didn't want to go, didn't want the night to end. He liked Waylon, liked talking with him, liked trying all these weird new things with him. 

His soft brown eyes traveled down to Waylon's lips in trepidation, wondering if it'd feel the same as before if he leaned in and just took the chance. 

So he did.

Moe crashed his lips against Waylon's, trying to remember just what to do, after all, it'd been quite a while since he'd kissed anyone, Waylon not included. The last time he'd been with a woman he'd felt just as unsure as he did right now. And maybe that was what it was all about? Guys kissing guys? Maybe it was just like kissing a woman?

After all, this certainly did. And then it didn't because the man's stubble was rubbing against his own clean shaven face and it was startling to say the least.

They kissed there on the stoop for what felt like an eternity before it was Waylon that pulled away. He looked overjoyed, his eyes alight with a glow that could have been from the streetlamp above but was probably (maybe?) because of little ol' him.

“Uh... “ Waylon chuckled. “Wow, Moe.”

Moe smiled uncertainly. “So... that was... nice.”

“Will you call me now?” 

The pepper-haired man chuckled uncomfortably, remembering the phone number written on the paper hidden in his apron somewhere. “Uh... yeah, I will. I promise.”

“I'll look forward to it.” The man said, grinning widely before heading back to his car.

Moe watched him go, feeling light on his feet, the smile refusing to leave his face. Well, how 'bout that? Maybe this whole thing wasn't so complicated after all.


End file.
